


Thorn

by HillDwarfCleric



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Curse Breaking, Elemental Magic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HillDwarfCleric/pseuds/HillDwarfCleric
Summary: ACOTAR inspired fic with very little connection to ACOTAR itself. A curse story with a romance, centred around my OCs.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Thorn

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic I've ever posted and I'm kinda nervous. Let me know if it seems interesting in the comments so I know whether to continue or not.

The tavern the first warmth Rita had felt in a long time. Elves gathered by the roaring hearth, drinking cider and talking late into the night, whether they were strangers, friends or travellers. All but him. In the corner, away from the others, Rita was barely distinguishable from the shadows that enveloped him. Shivering despite the heat, he pulled his cloak tighter around himself as the tavern musician’s concerned gaze flickered to him once again. He couldn’t draw any attention to himself; he was in this town for one reason, and he would not be distracted. He didn’t look back at the redhead, instead gazing down into his bowl of stew, which was welcome after so many days of cold food on the road. Drinking down the last of the meal with shaking fingers, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and froze.  
“Hey…”  
It was the lyre player. Tanned, bright-eyed, and dressed in warm orange fabrics, he was an utter contrast to Rita’s pale skin, dark hair, and, heavy, fur-lined cloaks.  
“I’m Errian. You look cold, and tired. Care to come and sit with me a little closer to the fire? I could use some company, and you look like you could too,” He smiled shyly, gesturing to the table by the fireplace. Up closer, he could see how frail Rita was; how delicate. A leaf, waiting, to be shattered underfoot or else swept away upon a cold wind. The shadows beneath his eyes were deep, and though his eyes were a striking violet, there was a darkness which clouded them, dulling the spark of life that ought to have shone from within.  
“No.” His voice cracked like a whip of finality, its harshness surprising even himself, and he internally winced at Errian’s look of hurt. “I…I’m sorry. I just don’t want to talk to anyone right now.” He said more softly.  
“I could get you some more food if you wanted…” Errian’s’ voice trembled as he bit his lip nervously.  
“Just leave me alone.” Rita’s breathing was shallow as he began to stand, steadying himself on the table.  
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Errian frowned. He couldn’t just leave him, not while he was like this.  
“I… I’ll… be fine. I’ll… just go.” Rita’s eyes fluttered and became unfocused, the room beginning tilt as dark patches danced tauntingly before him. He grabbed hold of Errian’s shoulder as he began to sway with it, his eyes widening, before a numbing blackness pervaded his mind.  
\---

Rita woke, and immediately felt something was different. It wasn’t the throbbing from the cuts on his back, nor was it the stinging of the scars on his chest. It was the feeling of waking in a bed, waking in a warm room. He had forgotten the feeling, and he felt as though he was drowning in the feathery blankets and soft pillow.  
“Where... where am I?” he mumbled into the blankets.  
“After last night, I couldn’t just leave you in the tavern, could I? You’re in my home. Don’t worry, you’re quite safe,”  
Rita looked up to the voice, and blinked as he grew accustomed to the rosy morning light. Sitting by the bed was the elf from the tavern. In the light, his red hair glimmered like a candle flame, and his bronze skin glowed.  
“How’re you feeling? I’ve given you a tonic for your head, and your chest was covered in small scratches. I put on a salve and bandaged what I could,”  
“I’m fine.” Rita’s tone was icy as looked away from Errian to the wall. His scars ached, serving as a painful reminder that he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t risk hurting Errian after he’d been so kind.  
“Well, at least eat some breakfast,” he frowned at Rita’s reaction, holding up a tray laden with pastries and a bowl of white berries. “These are elderfruit, our town’s largest trade. Try some,” Errian placed the tray upon the dresser. He felt a wave of relief as Rita’s eyes widened.  
“It’s so good…” He exclaimed as he tore into the pastries and fruit. They were strangers to him in a way Errian could never understand, luxuries greater to him than the crown sapphire of Corsa itself, and infinitely more useful than some stone would be. After all, you couldn’t eat a stone, and  
“I’m glad you like them. I just went out to buy them from the bakery for you – you looked like you needed something like this, you’re so thin…” Errian swallowed nervously.  
Rita said nothing, but how he devoured the food told Errian all he needed to know. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. This room’s been empty ever since my sister left to become a healer,”  
Rita’s gaze hovered somewhere on the horizon, and yet he seemed to peer through the many layers of reality to another time, a mournful tear in his eye. “Your sister… what was she like? Do you miss her?” Rita asked softly.  
“Yes… Every day. I visit her sometimes. She’s so kind, so much better than I will ever be. That’s why I had to let her go. She’d want you to be here, and use this room.”  
“I’m sorry, but I must leave you. I can’t -” He stopped and shook his head sadly.  
“You’re too weak, look, you can hardly stay awake as you are. You must rest. And I have no trouble caring for you – in fact, I quite enjoy it. You’re not going anywhere, not in this state, that would be reckless. You could get hurt; you could get lost again… I wouldn’t want to feel responsible if something bad were to happen to you.” Errian mumbled and looked to the floor shyly.  
Rita hated that Errian was right – he was still exhausted and could hardly lift his head off the pillow. However, though leaving could hurt him, staying would hurt him more. There was no choice here for Rita.  
“You’re right. I need more rest.” He lied.  
“Now sleep. You need it. If you get hungry, you’re welcome to anything in the kitchen. I’m going out now to find some new clothes for you; your cloak is old and awfully torn.” Errian said softly.  
“But why… How can you care so much? We’ve only just met,” Rita murmured as Errian turned to leave.  
This was a question Errian was yet to answer himself.  
\---

Rita stumbled out into the town, once again blinking in the morning sun. It was not so much a town as a forest; hollowed oaks were houses, candlelight glowing in round windows carved into the wood and small markets set under the shelter of large curved mushrooms growing from the thick trunks. Spites fluttered above in the canopy of the forest, playful and whimsy, as fickle in their flight as the wind which blew them forward. The ground was bathed in dappled orange light from the sun streaming through the autumn leaves, and Rita was painfully reminded of Errian’s hair. He hadn’t even thanked him for his kindness., despite all he’d done for him. Was doing for him. After he was cured, he’d go back to him, he promised himself. Withdrawing into his cloaks, he pushed through the crowd.  
He needed no directions; the temple was clear enough, even to a stranger. A great yew, dwarfing the trees under it, spiralled up in the centre of the woodland. In every branch, holes were cut to serve as windows, and mystical golden light spilled from them all. Unfathomably old, it twisted around itself again and again on its journey to the ether; a colossal serpent thrusting out its jaws to swallow the sun. A single, thin stairway led to a single, narrow, door. Rita’s heartbeat rose as he climbed. This could be it; the end of his curse. Beyond these steps could be what cured him.  
\---

Inside the temple, it was just as crowded as in the town. Fae from all elements of magic walked the wooden caves which wove deep into the tree. Mystics, Seers, Archmages – all were welcome in these halls. Spites flew overhead, and far above in the vaulted ceiling, a shining brass orrery ornamented with gold roses watched over them all.  
It was overwhelming. Rita couldn’t focus on one element of the temple for long before another took his breath away; the wonders were ceaseless. He was enthralled by the ornate, extravagant robes of the Archmages as they wove beautiful spectacles of flame and water with a flicker of their hands; by the quiet groups of scholars studying from ancient scrolls; by the elves silently meditating, suspended in air turned an unearthly purple colour by incense. He didn’t know where to go. Rita looked around for someone to ask as he was pushed past by people too rushed to notice him. Lost, disorientated, overlooked. His brows furrowed and he became breathless as he began to panic. His vision flickered and the hall seemed to lean; his exhaustion had caught up with him. Errian had been right. He should have rested longer. The lights blinded him, and he began to fall. Rita looked for anything to grab a hold on to steady himself, but there was nothing. He was so, so small in the vastness of the hall, and no one noticed his pain as he crashed to the floor, everything moving too fast. A high-pitched whine grew unbearably loud in his head as he curled tight into a ball.

“Are you having fun down there, or would you like some help?” A hand reached for him, and Rita’s vision became stable as looked up into the electric eyes of a young elf. She had long, pale blonde hair and wore sparkling makeup around her eyes which was the same blue colour as her flowing robes. He let her help him up and he brushed dust off his clothes as the whine faded to a dull throbbing in the back of his mind.

“I can never be sure which it may be, with the strange types that dwell here.” She nodded to the meditating monks. “Are you alright?” Her accent was lilting and her gaze inquisitive. 

“Yes, I’m fine…” Rita replied. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t seen you around here before, and I know everyone here. Are you one of the travellers come to see the Great Mystic?” She looked him up and down, taking in his tattered clothes and ragged hair.

“Yes… Yes, I am. I don’t suppose you could show me to her?” Rita enquired.

“Come! It’d be my pleasure to show you around. Maybe I’ll finally impress someone with my knowledge of the temple. I’m Tempadora, but my friends call me Dora. You are…?” Dora grinned with a crazed smile which almost made Rita regret taking her offer, but it was too late now.

“I’m Rita.” He answered, as Dora grabbed his hand and dragged him after her as she set off hurtling through the temple.

Rita was amazed by Dora’s spirit. She’d been showing him around the temple for at least a half of an hour and yet she still seemed to bounce off the walls, like a streak of lightning 

“And here’s the library…” Dora pointed to a group of towering wooden pillars carved with shelves and filled with thousands of books and scrolls. Rita barely had time to look at it before she whisked him off to another part of the temple.

On their way, Dora waved to almost everyone they passed. They all seemed to know her, and she called out each one of them by name; she hadn’t been lying when she’d said she knew everyone.

“Hello, Arlen!”

“How are you, Bella?”

“How’s Lupa’s paw, Nym?” She nodded to an older, scarred elf surrounded by three wolves who curiously sniffed at Rita as he passed. One of them had a bloody bandage around its leg. They seemed unusually tame for such beasts, which Rita was grateful for; he’d had enough encounters with wild wolves during his time in the forest.

“How can you know them all?” Rita asked. Having been alone for most of this life, this kind of community was strange to witness.

“My parents died when I was very young, but the great mystic is kind - she took me in as her own daughter, and I’ve been here ever since.” Dora didn’t slow her pace, skipping through the hallways even as they talked. Rita was heavily out of breath now.

“Don’t worry, it’s not much further.” Dora smiled at him in what she thought was probably a comforting manner as she noticed his exhaustion. Unfortunately for Rita, ‘just a little further’ for Dora meant another half hour of whirling through the halls at a hurtling pace as she shouted a constant stream of history excitedly into his ear with him nodding in response, half-dazed and half captivated.

“This is where we train new mystics, that’s what the temple was built for, did you know?” 

“Here’s the shrine to Run– God of stars. And there, next to it, the shrine to maiden of the moon, Rin.”

“And oh! Here are the alchemy laboratories, I don’t often come here; I’m more of a… physical mage.” Dora was a never-ending torrent of energy, and Rita couldn’t help but like her. “Let’s move on,” she said, wrinkling her nose as something exploded from a cauldron in a purple cloud.

Eventually, they arrived at an alcove. An orrery floated inside, a smaller replica of the one in the hall. From closer, Rita could see how intricately it was designed. Each gear was small and fitted perfectly within the system, and the roses were impossibly thin and so well-crafted that the gold appeared like a flowing liquid. Dora held up her hand and muttered a few words. Yet again, Rita was enraptured by the wonders of what magic could do. The orrery folded in on itself as it ticked and whirred, a clock of stars and planets, and soon, it formed a stairwell spiralling upwards to a door above.

“I’ll let you speak with mother alone. Good luck getting what you need!” Dora waved to him and skipped away.  
“Thanks, again.”  
\---  
Rita had barely raised his hand to knock at the door when it drifted open. He shouldn’t have been surprised; everything in this place seemed to be enchanted with some kind of magic.  
“Come in!”  
Rita searched the room for whoever had spoken. The chamber was round, reaching upward indefinitely, fading to a deep black far above where the silver light from the lanterns could not touch. Where before the walls had been bare bark, here they were covered in flowers - pink blossoms, violets, and lavender roses spiralled across them. It was beautiful, and Rita felt as though he was in a wild forest rather than in a room far above the clouds. Hunched over a telescope in the centre of the room was an old woman, dark skinned, silver haired, and radiating a kind of moonlight. She was almost invisible among the shelves and stacks of books, only seen by her glow, and didn’t move as Rita entered the chamber, instead continuing to peer intently into the lens while scrawling notes onto a scroll by her side. 

“Would you care for some tea?” She didn’t turn to look at him, but waved her hand, sending a teacup flying across the room toward him. Rita didn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter; the teacup impatiently thrust itself into his hands and began to tremble with impatience the longer he waited to drink it. It had a subtle flavour similar to the berries Errian had given him and was surprisingly sweet. As he sipped from the cup, which now purred contentedly, the old witch muttered under her breath and frowned more intently into the telescope. “Hmm… Strange, yes… very strange. Arden is particularly bright today. Interesting, interesting…” Little of this made sense to Rita, but it seemed of great importance to the mystic as she scribbled more observations down. Sharply, she froze. Turning silver knobs, she re-adjusted her focus and squinted into the eyepiece again. Her hand began to shake, and she dropped her quill, ink splattering onto her notes. 

“Are you alright?” Rita enquired.  
“Yes, yes, don’t mind me, I’m quite fine.” She quickly regained her composure and hurried towards Rita with surprising agility for her age. “Well what is it you need?” she inquired as Rita stared at her. Her eyes were grey and startling, and Rita felt intimidated by their raw, honest, intensity. “People who come to me always want something, or need something. So, what is it this time? Are you seeking true love? Knowledge? Perhaps having trouble with your magic? No, it does not seem like that would be one of your problems… Your aura is very strong. Seeking help with a curse then, maybe?” Watching her babble like this, Rita could see where Dora got her spirit from. However, where Dora was comparable to the changing weather, the mystic was more a kind of tumultuous cyclone, churning with the debris of an agitated mind. “Hmm? Hmmm!? We don’t have all day, boy!”

“Yes, I… I am cursed.”

“Show me.”

“I’m sorry…?”

“Show me!”

“I do not think that would be wise…” Rita frowned.

“You would speak to me of wisdom? When compared to your foolishness, I could be the aspect of wisdom herself! You know nothing, barely the petal of a daisy upon a mountain of knowledge. You mock me, childling. I don’t know how you expect me to be able to help you if I cannot see what it is that ails you so,” She began to turn away.

“Wait!” Taken aback by her sudden outburst, Rita held out a hand.

“I thought as much.” She whipped back her hawk-like gaze to him.

The mystic watched expectantly as Rita splayed his hand. He didn’t know what to do; he had never tried to use his magic before. It only burst out of him when he was in pain, or emotional. Rita closed his eyes and thought. Thought of how he had left Errian behind. Thought of his home, though he had forgotten all it had been, but remembered only the feeling of safety it had once brought. Thought of his sister.

“Stop. Stop!” 

Rita opened his eyes to see a wilted, dark purple rose curling around his fingers. Where the thorns touched his skin, they had drawn violet blood from deep wounds. Some were new, yet some were cars reopened by the mere memory of pain. He winced at the stinging in his hand. “Can… Can you help me? Can you cure this curse?”

She sighed. “I have seen cases of this before. This kind of magic manifests when an elf’s raw elemental magic is twisted. For you, it seems that your powers of nature have been corrupted into powers of decay.”

“Changed how? Twisted by what?”

“Usually, magic is corrupted by strong experiences. The death of someone close, trauma, grievous injury, heartbreak; anything which can scar a Fae’s mind can scar their magic. Can you think of a time where-”? As she spoke, she wrote into a small blue and gold notebook.  
Rita did not say a word, though his silence still spoke in waves sadness and regret.  
“I will not enquire. It is not my place. But take my pity, may it help you.” She said, seeing his desolate eyes.

“And how can I cure it?”

In an instant, her compassionate expression changed to one ridicule. “Cure it? What makes you think you can do that!” She let out of a bark of laughter. “Your curse is here, and here to stay. All you can hope to do is control it, and accept you will never be the same again.”

Rita had no words. All he could do was stare into nothing, eyes devoid of emotion, as his dreams of ever living a life he could be happy with were crushed. His dreams of returning to Errian; his dreams of learning magic with Dora in the temple; gone.

“No, No! Do not despair yet. I, after all, am not very learned in the magic of curses. I am more of an astronomancer,” She gestured to the globes, telescopes, and charts around the chamber. “There may be some other mage who can be more useful to you than me. Here, take this book.” She handed him the notebook she had been writing in. “It has some more information that may be useful to you.”  
It was too late. Rita had already fled from the chamber, and his teacup lay shattered on the floor, softly whimpering.  
“Did I say something?” The mystic whispered to the cup. “They always seem to leave crying; is it me? Here, don’t worry. I’ll fix you later, stop your pining.” She sighed.  
Turning back to her telescope, the mystic didn’t notice the thorns that grew from Rita’s tears, crawling across the ground in his wake of despair.  
\---

Errian waited patiently in line, but couldn't help but glare in frustration at the Fae in front of him who seemed to be taking far too long for her own good over whether to buy pink or red lace on her dress. Errian felt an ache somewhere deep within him as he longed to tell her that neither of these colours would match her yellow eyes; in fact, they would clash awfully them. Instead, he remained silent, sharing a smirk with the seamstress at her unfortunate taste in fashion. He was no stranger to this store, and new her quite well, though they had never talked about much else other than clothes and the awful dress sense of her many other customers. He turned from to look at the cloaks again. A simple brown cloak would probably be best for the stranger, being most like the one he had now, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd look good in the green one. He thought about what he'd said earlier.  
"How can you care so much?"  
Errian didn't know. Maybe it was out of a desire to do what he knew his sister would have wanted, or it could simply be that he just wanted to help him. Maybe it was because he found him cute. That was an awful reason to want to help someone, yet Errian couldn't deny that was why he had at first approached him in the tavern.  
“It’s your turn.” The elf behind him gently nudged his shoulder.  
“Sorry.” Errian fell out of his thought and looked at the seamstress.  
“Hi, Errian. How can I help you?” A elf with spiked pink hair and wore a simple white sleeveless dress, she was somehow handsome, beautiful, and striking all at the same time.  
“Nina. Hi.”  
She leaned in closer to whisper, “I saw that look. Which unfortunate elf are you ping after this time? What have they done to deserve such a fate?”  
“W-What? I’m not…There’s no one…”  
“Mm.” She looked at him disbelievingly. “Well anyway, what do you want this time?”  
“I’d like to buy the green… - what’s that?” Errian exclaimed as he saw a figure flash past behind the stall. Torn cloak, violet eyes. Rita.  
“What’s what?” She frowned at him, confused, but he was already gone.  
Errian rushed after him, barely able to keep up through the crowd. He had to find him. He was going to hurt himself like this. And he couldn’t let that happen.  
\---

Rita ran, ran away from everything. His regret. His despair. As he fled, flowers grew in his footsteps then wilted into cruel barbs. He had to get away from the town; he couldn’t hurt anyone. Not again. Never again. He ran into the wood, and as he wept, spears of thorn cried from the trees around him. For once, he was happy to be lost in the forest. Then he collapsed, and his regret, his despair, his longing, everything, crashed down upon him, crushing him to the floor in a wave of thick, black, thorn.

Rita awoke, shivering and breathing fast and shallow. He was pressed into Errian’s chest, his warm arms holding Rita close. He looked around in confusion. 

“It’s OK. You're safe. We’re safe.” Errian stroked Rita’s hair. “You have hypothermia; I need to keep you warm. What were you thinking, running like that?”  
“You’ve seen.” Rita’s voice was bleak, devoid of emotion.  
“…”  
“You know.”  
“Yes…”  
“Then why are you still here?” Rita looked up through tear-stained eyes.  
“I couldn’t let you keep hurting yourself.”  
“I could hurt you. I could -”  
“Leaving you alone, leaving you scared, would hurt me more than any thorn could.”  
Rita had no words to respond. He brought up his arms to Errian’s back and held him tight. He was still numb, however, and he began to shiver again. Errian was panicking – he’d already given him all the blankets and his body heat wasn’t enough to warm Rita’s frozen body. “I don’t know what to do! You’re not getting any warmer,” At the thought of Rita becoming sick again, his face became red, and he sweated nervously.

“Can’t you use magic, or what?” Rita sighed softly. 

Errian gently untangled Rita’s arms from his torso and laid him on the blankets. Kneeling over him, his hands began to glow from within with an intense lustre. He placed his hands upon Rita’s frail chest and the light flooded into him, driving away the cold blue tinge in his skin. When her turned back to him, he had already fallen into sleep, and looked calmer and more untroubled than Errian had ever seen him.

Again, Rita woke, and again, Errian lay beside him.

“I…I never thanked you for what you did for me.”

Errian smirked. “I think we’re past that point,” but hearing the tremble in Rita’s voice he let him continue.

“Thank you… Thank you for not hating me. When you saw what I could do, what my magic could do, I thought you’d be afraid of me.” Rita sobbed into Errian’s tunic.

“Why would I be afraid of you? We all have our wounds, just some hide them better than others. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.” Errian gently touched Rita’s chin and tilted up his head, gazing deep into his violet eyes.  
“I… I could still hurt you. It’s too dangerous for you to be with me. You’ve seen what I can do. You’ve seen what I can do to myself. Imagine… Imagine what I could do to you. I can’t control it. You need to -”  
Errian shushed him. “Look… Your chest. There’s no thorns. No scratches. Not when I’m here.”  
“You’re the biggest pain of all." Rita mumbled. “You’re more persistent than any curse could be.”  
“Be quiet, you’re still weak.” Errian snapped to hide his embarrassment, but he still smiled. Rita didn’t laugh, but his eyes sparked with humour. He had finally found someone who accepted him for who he was. He nestled himself back into Errian’s chest. Startled, Errian froze before relaxing into the embrace once again. 

“Can we just… Stay like this forever?” Rita murmured into Errian’s neck, letting the taller elf envelop him, curving into him. Closing his eyes, he hummed contentedly. Here, he felt warm, safe. Here, he felt loved.

Rita rose to the sound of birdsong. Errian was already awake; he sat outside by a small fire, roasting a few small birds, and grinned at Rita as he came out into the daylight, blinking at the brightness. 

“Care for some pigeon?” Errian waved a charred piece of meat at him.

“Are you sure this is meat?” Rita turned the coal-black lump over in his hands.

“Hey, I’ve never cooked wild birds before.” Errian sulked.

“Well… Plucking them would be a good start,” Rita dubiously examined the meat further to find a few burned feathers and began to chuckle. Errian ran a hand through his hair and looked to the ground in shame, but couldn’t stay down for long; Rita’s laugh was infectious and soon they were both looking at each other, lips twitching into a smile. Rita coughed, and looked away toward the fire, realising he’d been gazing into Errian’s soft green eyes a little too long. “Come, I’ll show you how.” 

After rummaging through his backpack, Rita pulled out a bow. He slung it over his back, along with a couple of arrows in a quiver. The bow was old and small, barely longer than the length of his arm; it was all he could use given how slightly he was built. 

Rita looked over his shoulder in annoyance. “Shh. Be quiet. You’ll scare away all the animals, and pull up your hood too – they’ll see you from a mile away with that red flag on your head.” Rita whispered to Errian as he stomped through the forest, crunching leaves and breaking twigs underfoot.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry!” Errian obliged, treading more carefully and covering his hair. 

Rita gestured for them to stop, and pointed up into the canopy. It took Errian longer to see the pheasant than Rita, but when he did his eyes sparked. Rita shrugged his bow off his shoulder, then aimed and shot in one swift movement.  
The bird tumbled awkwardly to the ground, and Rita picked it up by the feet, twisting his arrow from where it had lodged in the bird’s eye. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Errian wondered at Rita’s skill.

Rita blushed at the praise and swept his dark hair out of his eyes to look up at Errian. “I had to teach myself; it was either learn to hunt, or starve. Hunger can be a powerful motivator.” He wiped the blood off the end of the arrow, which was heavily dented and blunt from years of use, and put it back into his quiver.

“Unless you enjoy a mouthful of burnt feathers, plucking is an important part of preparing a bird to eat,” Rita taunted Errian with that small, endearing smile. “No, no, you’re doing it wrong; don’t yank them like that or you’ll rip off all the skin,” he commented as Errian aggressively began to tear fistfuls of feathers out of the pheasant. “More like this.” Rita took the bird from him and held it by the feet, then began to pluck the feathers towards him, snapping his wrist quickly. Errian became mesmerized by the repetitive movement and his mind began to wander. He was liking Rita more and more; the longer he stayed with him, the more he was surprised by the younger elf, and the more drawn to him he was. After all, he was… cute. Errian couldn’t deny that he found his smile, his blush, well, just him, adorable. 

“And these fluffier feathers on the side of the breast, well, they’re easier to pull out, and… Are you listening to me?” Rita sighed as he saw Errian’s dreamy expression and drifting gaze. Errian inexplicably blushed and looked back at him. 

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Rita huffed. “Well, just watch. I don’t want you going hungry if you ever need food and I’m not here for you.” Errian focused on Rita’s nimble fingers as he plucked the rest of the bird, nodding as he talked. “Look at your spit – it's far too close to the flame, no wonder those poor birds were charred as coal. 

“Hey…They weren’t that-” 

Rita silenced him with a glare, piercing the pheasant with a rod and placing it above the fire, held by sticks. He began to rotate the spit slowly, and was silent now, gazing into the flames, deep in thought. Tears welled in his eyes, reflecting the orange flames. 

“Lost something in there?” Errian smirked.

“Everything I thought I knew about myself... Now I doubt it all. I used to think there was something wrong with me. I pushed everyone away. I wasted years trying to cure myself. Now I know… I never will. I’ve wasted so much, all for nothing.” Rita murmured. 

“Maybe not for nothing,” Errian whispered softly, laying his hand over Rita’s. “I’m here now, and I’m never, never going to leave you. You’re not alone now, nor will you ever be again. That’s all that matters.”

“Errian…” Rita smiled shyly, withdrawing his hand. “You’ve only known me for a few days. Don’t say things like that. You don’t need to stay with me, and part of me still wants to be left alone. Let me fight this by myself.” He walked back to the tent, leaving Errian in the clearing with only the birdsong for company.  
“But I will. I will, for you. Because no one else will.” He whispered silent trees.


End file.
